


with planning and purpose

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bondage, Consent Issues, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink, Praise Kink, mentions of john/kara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: John prefers to have his heats treated by medical professionals.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The consent issues are the ones attendant on most A/B/O fic; John is happy to have very invasive medical treatment for heat, but he might just have low standards. The mentioned John/Kara bits are pretty dubconny, since, well, John/Kara.

"Tomorrow you're shipping to Berlin," Mark tells Kara. "John will join you in a few days."

Kara crooks an eyebrow, but thankfully waits for Mark to leave the room before asking, "That time of the month?" The false sympathy in her voice is cloying.

John smiles at her, makes it look effortless. "Nature calls, I gotta answer."

She snorts. "Are you at least hooking up this time? Thinking about you having a heat in a hospital is too sad."

He leans close to her, breathes, "So don't," into her ear. She doesn't flinch, but she does narrow her eyes at him when he leaves the room.

Whatever. Heat's coming. Even Kara's bound to cut him some slack.

~~

Thing is, John likes going to the hospital for heat. Some times more than others: some doctors are awful, but some are decent. Either way it beats having to be on guard while trying - failing - to flirt, making a mental calculation, _Will this alpha stab me or try to get classified info_ , all the while aware of the clock ticking until John can't make decisions at all.

By comparison, checking into the heat ward is easy. Simple.

Heat wards are often luxurious: a hospital administrator, one of John's marks, once told him that hospitals competed for omega clients. Heats were simple enough things to manage, people usually made their choices in advance, and a good time meant a good chance at repeat clients.

A nurse shows John to a room with an adjustable bed and consults his record. "This says you asked to be strapped into place?" At his nod, she says, "Go change clothes and we'll take care of that."

John always elected to be tied down during heat treatment. With his instincts close to the surface, his training, the hospital staff not generally being aware... it's probably safer that way, for everyone involved.

After the nurse straps him down - tight enough to be secure, but comfortable, the straps padded and smooth - and pushes a call button beneath his fingers, she leaves the room. John exhales a long breath and goes limp. The room smells of antiseptic. The agency knows where John is, won't risk letting him be caught unaware. The staff has all been vetted.

There's still worries clamouring in the back of John's mind, but soon enough heat will drive them away.

The door creaks. "Mr. Reese," says a familiar voice, and John relaxes another fraction. Dr. Finch is very secretly John's favorite; he was also the one to treat John for John's last three visits, so John likes to think this attitude is not entirely one-sided.

Dr. Finch snaps on gloves. "I'm going to examine you," he says. "Has anything changed since last time? Do you still prefer not to answer questions during the procedure?"

"Just the same," John says softly.

Dr. Finch gives a decisive nod. "We'll proceed just as we did before, then. If you have issues at any point, please let me know."

The words are mostly a formality. John's an old hand at this, and he and Finch have done this before. John knows what's coming.

He should probably not be looking forward to it as much as he is.

Finch sweeps his hands over John's body, meticulous and gentle. John was hard and wet before Finch even entered the room, signs of his body succumbing to heat. He doubts any of his response to Finch's hands is visible from the outside.

The nice part is that he knows from experience that even if (when) John does respond, undeniably, Finch will be utterly professional about it, and unfailingly kind.

Once he's done with the external exam, Finch runs a finger over John's entrance, rubbing it together with his thumb, examining the wetness. "Everything seems to be in good order," Finch says. "I'll proceed with the internal inspection now."

John has endured hours of torture without making a sound. He's pretty sure he could take Finch's fingers in him (long, nimble, devastatingly precise) without so much as a whimper, but the nice thing about the excuse of being in heat is, he doesn't have to.

Even so, he doesn't make too much noise, only a couple of desperate whines as Finch presses deliberately around his prostate, making his cock leak precome.

"Just in time," Finch says softly. "Incidentally, Mr. Reese, I'm very pleased with your prudence. It's very responsible of you to see that your heat is managed well."

John makes a quiet sound, feeling himself glowing at the praise, however esoteric. Finch likes talking as he examines John, and John - once he realized Finch wasn't expecting him to be an active participant - likes listening to him.

"We'll start with a few stretching exercises." It's another facet of Finch's kindness: even knowing John is familiar with all the steps, Finch still calls them out in turn, aware of how John melts a little more thoroughly with every indication that this heat will proceed according to comforting, pleasurable routine.

Finch is something of a genius with the stretching tools. He has a knack for swapping the insertable for a bigger one just as John starts feeling too open, empty. John is so wet that he's soaking the sheets, with no artificial lube necessary. Finch doesn't comment on it.

"There we go," Finch says, finally, on the next-to-biggest insertable. "Ready for the knot fascimile." Finch's language is so precise - a lot of the doctors here just refer to it as a knot, or call it by cutesy names, as though John was a child.

John doesn't have to say yes, doesn't have to speak at all. Can do nothing but groan wordlessly as Finch pushes the largest insertible inside him.

"I have to say, I do prefer to treat heats in controlled setting," Finch muses. "I suppose I mustn't judge people who answer directly to the call of nature, so to speak, but it's so much safer to have the stretching be gradual." He pets John's stomach, a gentling touch, until John stops arching his spine and sobbing as he clenches around the knot. "Especially for those who have a smaller frame - or pelvic entrance: I suppose that other than that quirk of biology, nobody could refer to you as small, but I do appreciate that you take proper care with yourself in this regard. You're more fragile than you seem."

Somewhere inside John's mind, there are distant alarms ringing, but they're all moved back by the fog of heat. He whines a little, uncertain.

"Shh," Finch says, petting him some more. "You're right, that's none of my business. I hope you'll forgive an old man for rambling." One hand comes up to John's face, wiping wetness from his cheeks with a clean cloth.

Indignance vaguely comes up inside John. Finch is hardly old. But Finch is petting John, and he is being knotted, and he can't focus enough to word disagreement.

Finch has both hands on John's stomach now, and his petting transforms into purposeful rubbing, making John that much more aware of the thick instrument inside him. John weakly moans and clenches.

"Breathe," Finch tells him, and John does, matching the rhythm of his inhalations to Finch's. "There you go. Nearly there, nearly there... Oh, there you go," he says, when John squeezes around the knot and spills, orgasm intensifying at Finch's audible approval.

Finch keeps rubbing him until John finishes coming, a good long time.

"I'm afraid I must go now," Finch says, with what John wants to believe is genuine regret. "The knot will slip out by itself when you're ready. Try to rest, Mr. Reese."

He offers John a soft blanket. The scent that clings to it is so faint that John can't even tell if it belongs to a beta, an alpha, or a fellow omega; all he can register from it is _human_.

John takes it and hides his face in it as the door softly shuts behind Finch.

~~

"How'd heat go?" Kara asks when he meets up with her in Berlin.

Telling her _Fine_ would show weakness. Saying _Great_ would open him up to an attack in other ways. "Ugh," John says. "Could be worse."

There's a flash across her face that could've been sympathetic, if Kara did sympathy. "I keep telling you, just pick up an alpha."

"You volunteering, Stanton?" John says it lazily, with a raised eyebrow, because that way the odds are higher that she'll say no.

She laughs, says, "Too much work," and stalks outside.

Berlin is having a heatwave, and the hotel room they're in is too hot, the sheets scratchy when John sprawls on them with calculated carelessness. John lets out a breath. For another month, he's safe.


End file.
